St. Lunatics - Real Niggaz lyrics

Real niggas ride wit' us
You haters gotta ride the bus
Smoke 'til when my brain gon' bust
Bank account so plush, the FEDs on us
Real niggas ride wit' us (and dime ladies)
You haters gotta ride the bus (we drop crazy)
Smoke 'til when my brain gon' bust
Bank account so plush, the FEDs on us

Kyjuan's a preppy hippy
Cross the bridgy of Mississippi
I slang thangs, make bread, easy like Jiffy
Call me a cool nigga or a Mr refriger'
Kids ask me
("Mr can you get crunk and jiggy?")
I reply quickly, bottle of Andres or Crissy
Smoke backyard or sticky, my man
Watch me get busy
I wake up with two dimes, both named Nikki
I'm a playa dirty, no passion marks
No hickies cats make me sick when I


Roll through y'all city
Lookin like angry mad, face mad, teeth gritty
You gon' make me go back
Into my days of U-City
Cornrows, penny bros and new Dickies
Ahh shit, when situation looks shitty
I got that thang with me
Plus I Puff like Diddy
You niggas can't hang with me
Or pop the pain with me
So wrap somethin mo' and hop
In the Range with me check, check
No picture me rollin, Optimo
Glocka four-four
Four do' Range Rov', mink with matchin Kangol
Whole hood like "oh"
Freakin 'em out they mind
D's with diamonds on 'em, jackers
I know they want 'em
Not, you see the watch, Roley or G-shock
You hear me four, five blocks
Before you see me, that's the knock
I need not speak on that, I speak on Zack
And how he better fix my shit
Or give my eight G's back
Salute the rugged, flip screen
You gotta love it
Navigational system behind the ten
Duckin the public
Take my chain off to thaw out
Battle four out we fill
The fattest wad a hun'neds you ever saw out
Son break the jar out, twist the muskie
Only real niggas ride and smoke
Patna trust me
If I'm lyin, bad mouth, slap then crush me
Cuss me, suplex lamb
Grab the nine and bust me cause only

I'm like the battery
I come through every door on a cell
(Duracell)
Mr energizer, forever ready to make a mil'
Fuck that Cris', let it spill, I hit the gas
And make it peel
I'm smokin twenty inches of Parelli, wha
Up off the wheel
I hit the jewelry store at noon
Slight case of the chills
I got the face too damn chunky
Cause it's still read "twelve" well hell
Not a shit starter but I be startin some shit
Half the time I'm in the club
Half the niggas gettin pissed
Me, got they miss, I done, caught they wrist
And they be thinkin you cockblockin cause
You gave her a kiss
I walks over to your bitch and
Asks her "who's is this?"
Tell 'em one more time just
In case he forgets
I be the sleepy eyed, kinky guy
The chinky eye
Comin be like I, ay, EI, ready the guy
Nigga hella high, country grammar
Yellin "EI!"
Fuckin your cutie pie, forty-nine
Not gettin none
You shoulda' seen this ladie's face when
I walked in the bank
I'm the school boy, I'm Hollywood
Smellin like dank
Lookin like I don't know left from right
Holdin a check
Got the whole front desk like
"Murphy's set for life!" i agree wit' em
I exchange sacks with seeds in 'em
Drivin eighty in the rainiest Rov'
TV's in 'em i'm St lou
Plus true to the arch equals I'm real
I'm Hollywood
Plus true to the heart equals a mil'
I'm killin y'all
Matter fact I'm killin myself
In a category with T-Boz, I'm feelin myself
It gets no better
Slo says it gotta get better
Gotta get wood, gotta get dubs
We gotta get leather
I'm like, what, real playas roll on dubs
(Lunatics like)
And haters can't kick it wit' us
(and our blunts tight)
We smokin 'til our brain gon' bust
Gettin head in the back of the truck
City what up i'm like only